By long-standing automotive tradition, you are expected to remember exactly where you were when you saw your first E-Type Jaguar. The precise time and place, the color of the car, weather conditions and angle of the sun are supposed to be etched in your memory, almost like the anodyne flip­ side of that terrible moment when Kennedy was shot.

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But many of us don't remember. I've asked half a dozen people who ought to, but they usually dissemble into a vague mixture of mutterings and shifty eye movements: "Let's see, let's see, when was it. . . Ha! Yes, I do remember; no, wait. . ."

You can't blame them. The stunning good looks of the Jaguar, for most of us, simply overshadowed and swept away any memory of our immediate surroundings. In most cases, it's the E-Type that's unforgettable, not where we were standing at the time.

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There's another defense of this am­nesia too: While the E-Type was both derivative of the D-Type and striking­ly new, it somehow looked like a car we'd always known about but had nev­er met, a natural shape waiting since Greek times for a modern Praxiteles to chisel away all the stone that didn't look like an E-Type.

Cars being more complex than stat­ues (they've got stuff inside 'em), there was no single sculptor behind the new Jaguar, just the usual industrial team.

Most external shaping was the work of the brilliant young Malcolm Sayer, an automotive engineer who'd spent World War II doing aerodynamic work for the Bristol Aeroplane Com­pany. A lively, energetic man who joined Jaguar in 1950, Sayer had the gift of thinking, instinctively and mathematically, in three dimensions.

Equally gifted was Sayer's famous boss, the founder and president of Jag­uar, William Lyons (later to be Sir William ). From his early years as builder of the lovely Swallow sidecars, through all of the SS, XK and racing-type Jaguars, the unschooled but intuitive Lyons had shown a remarkable sense of both value and style in every­ thing he touched. He was not an engi­neer, but had that rarest of human traits, almost perfect good taste.

One look at most Jaguar proto­types—penned before Lyons had a chance to put in his gifted hand—and you're ready to get down on your knees and thank heaven he inter­vened. With a few subtle changes of proportion and line, they go from pretty good to downright brilliant.

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William Heynes was chief engineer and mechanical interpreter of Lyons' dreams and intentions; Frank "Lofty" England towered over the project (lit­erally) as Jaguar's service manager and race director; Norman Dewis, chief test driver, shook down the prototypes; and Bob Knight developed the E-Type's independent rear suspension, a system so good it's still the rear suspension of choice to hundreds of hot rodders.

Credits could go on forever; the point is, this was a very good team, nearly all of whom had five outright Le Mans victories under their belts and had just shifted their sights away from the sublime D-Type racing car to aim at the next big thing: a Jaguar rac­ing car for the road. Well, sort of.

Here we get into the funny business of the car's name. Jaguar racing cars of the Fifties had been designated C-Type and D-Type, while the road cars had been XKs, followed by the model number. Yet within the factory, and for the European market, the new Jaguar was called the E-Type while in the U.S. it was introduced as the XK-E.

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Floor wax or dessert topping? What was the deal? Was this Jaguar's new Le Mans contender or the replacement for the aging XK-150?

In a way, XK-E (a designation no longer favored by most enthusiasts) was probably the right name; the car was a little of each.With its monocoque passenger compartment/tail sec­tion, tube-framed engine bay and tilt­ing bonnet, it was clearly descended from the D-Type. But its well-appointed interior, civilized 3.8 XK engine (borrowed directly from the XK-150S) and compliant suspension made it an ideal 2-place touring car. As Lofty England said, "The E-Type was the fruit of the racing years, not a race car itself."

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None of this mattered to the throng of fans who stood transfixed, first in Geneva, then around the rotating plat­form at the New York auto show on April 1, 1961, gazing upon the very same Opalescent Bronze fixed-head coupe featured in the pages of this Sa­lon. Peter Ustinov, Dick van Dyke, Paul Whiteman and the tall and glamorous model Marilyn Hanold stood nearby or posed with the car, but they were not the stars of this show.

People wrote checks on the spot and tried to hand them to any Jaguar staffer who could promise a car.​

The new Jaguar was an absolute sensation. Not since the introduction of the XK-120 at the London show of 1948 had any sports car produced such a stir or so much favorable comment. The XK-E generated—along with the Mark IX—$30,600,000 in customer orders taken right at the show. People wrote checks on the spot and tried to hand them to any Jaguar staffer who could promise a car.

You had to muscle your way through a dense crowd to see them, but there were four E-Types parked under the Jaguar sign at the New York show that day: two fixed-head coupes and two roadsters, including our own bronze coupe (chassis number 885004—i.e., the fourth production coupe built), a British Racing Green coupe (885003), a cream roadster (875002) and a dark blue roadster (875003).

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You can be sure those lucky throngs at the show remember quite vividly where they saw their first E-Type. Close up and in real life, the sheer detail and texture of the car were overwhelming.

It had a tail end like a wasp, with two chromed exhaust stingers sneaking up the underside; a steering wheel and in­struments out of a Mike Hawthorn rac­ing photo; wraparound bumpers that looked like half-retracted safety razors; delicate forged upper and lower A-arms that appeared incapable of holding the weight of the chassis, let alone the long, dense, XK engine with its polished cam covers and neat trio of 2-in. SU carbu­retors, which breathed through a back­ swept silver plenum atop an air cleaner the size of a Sears shop-vac. And then there were front torsion bars instead of springs, black-porcelained exhaust headers, wire wheels, knockoffs, glass-covered headlights...

John Lamm

The car seemed to have a hundred individual parts you'd gladly display in a trophy case; it was a virtual mother lode of future paperweights, conversation pieces, heraldic wall hangings and Druidic totems, all compacted into a single kinetic object of amazing sensuality and grace.

When you stood back and took it all in, the entire shape of the E-Type seemed charged purely with the task of delivering its own magnificent engine, which was wrapped tightly under that long bonnet bulge. The body, as Sayer himself said, was principally "a low-drag fairing around the mechanical parts..." There was a cockpit, of course, to fill the empty spaces next to the driveline, but almost as an after­ thought, like bunks in a submarine.

This, in fact, did not escape the no­tice of road testers, once the early E-Types were released to the public.

Originally, Sayer's design had stipu­lated a shallow floor well for the driv­er's heels, but production exigencies had deleted that feature, resulting in what are now known as "the early flat-floor E-Types." Tall drivers had little knee room to operate the pedals, and shorter drivers commented there was no place to rest their heels. The barrel-backed bucket seats, too, were slightly uncomfortable and didn't slide back very far. Both of these problems were corrected on later 3.8 and 4.2 cars; the floor well was put back in, the bulk­ head behind the seats was carved out for more movement, and the seats were redesigned.

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On the mechanical front, the main complaint was the hardy but slow-shifting Jaguar-built gearbox with its Moss-style gears and non-synchro 1st. Jaguar was working on a new box, but it would not be introduced until the 4.2 Series 1 came out in October of 1964. There were other grumbles too: overheating in slow, hot traffic; leaking trunk and door seals; inadequate cock­ pit ventilation and scandalously high oil consumption.

The fact is, even after five years of hard work and development, Jaguar had more or less rushed the first E-Types into production for those 1961 auto shows, and the car was not quite ready for prime time. During that first summer, corrective measures slowed assembly lines to a crawl, so early or­ders took a long time to be filled.

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But all these early nits were largely overlooked in the face of the E-Type's remarkable performance.

John Lamm

Here was a car advertised to go 150 mph at just a tick over its 6000-rpm redline, and British journalists from Autocar and The Motor had actually recorded two-way runs of 150 and 149.1 mph, respectively, on Belgian and Italian motorways. Never mind that these engines were carefully se­lected and bench-tested by Jaguar and that most owners were able to push their cars "only" into the mid-140-mph range at best, this was still an im­pressive speed in any car, let alone one that cost just $5595.

More to the point, any car with a 145-mph top speed could cruise at a genuine 100 mph without raising a sweat, which the E-Type did. Better still, the car felt safe and stable at these speeds. Sayer's years of racing experi­ence and testing had paid off in superb dynamic stability. The Jaguar was also well balanced on winding roads. It cornered with mild understeer, while a useful amount of oversteer could be in­duced with hard throttle or a quick lift. All while providing a compliant, comfortable ride almost unknown in the sports cars of 1961.

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In our September 1961 road test, R&T recorded a 0-60-mph time of 7.4 seconds and a 0-100 of 16.7 with the standard 3.31 rear end. Bystanders asked if it could beat a Corvette on ac­celeration and we said it could not, but it had a higher top speed and, with lower gearing, might trounce the Corvette on acceleration too. Not bad for a 2720-lb. car propelled by 230.6 cubic inches.

To some extent, the E-Type's per­formance envelope was limited by its 4-speed transmission, there being no room in the chassis for the overdrive unit used in earlier XK models. Still, the engine was so flexible, 265 (claimed) bhp at 5500 rpm and 260 lb.-ft. of torque on tap at 4000 rpm, a shortage of ratios was not really a problem.

Brakes, too, were excellent. Built by Dunlop, under license to Kelsey-Hayes, the 4-wheel discs hauled the car down smartly at a time when Corvettes and Porsche road cars, for instance, still had drums. In racing use, or on long mountain descents, the E-Type's brakes could be faded to a deep cherry red, but in normal daily use they were better than most. Rear brakes were in­ board, which reduced unsprung weight but made them a little harder to cool and service, while also putting heat into the differential oil seals.

John Lamm

But the rear suspension, with its four coil springs and tubular shocks, chunky lower links and fixed-length halfshafts acting as upper arms, was the very model of elegance. The suspension subframe was bolted to the car through four rubber isolation mounts and a set of trailing arms, so the whole chunk could easily be removed for service.

All in all, an amazing package, and so cheap! Here was one of the most beautiful and coveted cars on earth, and it could be purchased by ascetic first lieutenants, right-seat airline pi­lots and—yes—even journalists.

So I was naturally gratified to be sent to Northern California (on my 49th birthday) to look at two fine ex­amples of the type. For this Salon we wanted to drive a fixed-head coupe and a roadster, and we found both in the San Francisco area.

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One is the famous bronze 885004 New York show car, now owned by Mark Miller of Los Altos, California. The other, a 1963 3.8-liter Opalescent Maroon roadster, lovingly restored over three years by its owner, Steve Gasser, of nearby San Rafael. We drove and photographed both cars in the Napa Valley, in and around Far Niente Vine­yards—owned by our friend and fellow Jaguar nut Gil Nickel.

Gasser drove up first, top down, on a clear, cool spring day. Steve is an at­torney, originally from Albuquerque, who was born one year before his car was built. He has loved cars ever since he was a kid; Al Unser Sr. judged his soap-box racer in 1970.

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After a long search, he found a straight, rust-free, original maroon res­toration project in San Rafael in 1989. The car had not run in 17 years and was missing its radiator, but was otherwise complete. He paid $12,000 for it. "The E-Type has always been a favorite car of mine," he says. "I didn't know how cars worked and I wanted to learn."

Gasser farmed the bodywork and paint out to a shop, but did most of the mechanical assembly and detail work himself, with help and advice—and some shop space—from a profes­sional mechanic named Steve Gordon of Vintage Auto Service in Oakland. They ended up with one of those crisp, perfect cars where everything works harmoniously, and the car has done 4000 trouble-free miles since its restoration. I'd never driven an early 3.8 car, so this was a good introduction.

Gasser's car has the later 1 1/2-in.-deep footwell, so the driving position felt pretty much like my old 4.2 road­ster's, except for the barrel-backed bucket seats. These may be less than ideal on a long trip, but on first sitting they feel fine, if a little upright. The narrow pedal box precludes any heel-and-toe motion, mainly because the transmission tunnel and console pre­vent the necessary angling of your leg. The clutch pedal, typically, has a long, elephantine throw and engages only on the last inch or two of travel.

John Lamm

I'd heard the gear change was slow in the old-style box, and it is; you really have to let those revs drop and do a slow count between shifts ("one Mis­sissippi...two Mississippi") or you get a minor grunch.

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"I don't mind it," Gasser shrugs. "You just learn to use the torque of the engine and shift less often."

And that legendary engine torque is real. The car pulls away from a stop effortlessly, accelerates with steady, re­lentless force and cruises at highway speed with the calm assurance of a Merlin V-12 at part throttle. Get on the gas at 70 mph and you can feel those six long-stroke pistons start picking 'em up and putting 'em down; the car zooms up to 90 with a low, steady growl and no particular drama. And what else would you expect? Sev­enty mph is less than half speed.

Road feel is one of unshakable sta­bility, with nice steering feedback. The car tracks straight and true with a compliant, comfortable ride, and the wind flutters the top of your cap but doesn't buffet the cockpit area; un­shouted conversation is possible. Brakes are strong and linear, much better and more modern than I expect­ed. As you get accustomed to it, even the slow gearbox has its charms. It somehow fits with the solid, industri­al-machine quality of the car and re­quires you to contribute something to its operation.

It's more car than you need for mere sport, but that's a good part of its charm.

The E-Type, for all its aeronautical modernness, is one of the last sports cars made with that traditional sense of being a motorcar (accent on motor) rather than just a car. It's not a quick, nimble driver's car in the style of a Lotus Elan or a Miata, but a machine with its own special gait and bearing. You do drive an E-Type, but you are also partly aware of being taken for a ride, like the new owner of a highly trained but spirited war horse. It's more car than you need for mere sport, but that's a good part of its charm.

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Our other E-Type, which arrived by trailer, had been completed only hours before these photographs were taken. Its owner, Mark Miller, had been up for about three weeks of days and nights building the car (again, with help from Steve Gordon) and was all but talking in tongues when he ar­rived. His coupe started, ran, drove and looked perfect, but was untested. We drove it briefly, but mostly just took its picture. Why all the last-minute work?

A little history: After this famous bronze coupe—probably the most photographed Jaguar in American his­tory—left the New York auto show, it was sent to Charles Hornburg, the Jaguar distributor in Los Angeles. From there it made the rounds to some two dozen other western Jaguar dealers as a demo car and was also shown off at the Santa Barbara road races and other California circuits, do­ing parade laps for the crowd.

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When production E-Types finally started rolling off the line, the coupe was sold out of Hornburg's Sunset Boulevard showroom in February, 1962, to Eddie MacHarg, who gave it to his wife, Ruth ("Judy"), for her 40th birthday. Eddie was well known in the music business, having been road man­ager for Duke Ellington and Cab Cal­loway, as well as music publisher to Irving Berlin and others.

After Eddie died in 1980, Mrs. MacHarg drove the car until 1989, then sold it to the Blackhawk Collection, Kenneth Behring's famous car museum in Danville, California. The museum did a nice display restoration, but, as Mark Miller says, "They didn't worry too much about the mechanical details."

John Lamm

When Mark heard the Blackhawk museum was thinking of selling the car last summer at Pebble Beach, he appealed to their mercy; he already had one of the roadsters from the New York show, he told them, and the two cars should be reunited. Hard to fault that logic, especially at a fair price, so Miller became the car's new owner.

He's been working on it ever since, rebuilding the drivetrain and returning the engine compartment to period look and specification. The pumpkin-colored cylinder head, he says, correct­ly reflects color photos from 1961 (lat­er heads were more of a pale gold), but the color of the car itself is not origi­nal. It is currently painted Golden Sand, while the original was the more coppery Opalescent Bronze.

A distinctive giveaway to the car's early production is its external set of bonnet latches, which have to be opened with a large T-handled key. Just 500 of these "outside latch" cars were made before the dual release handles were moved inside the cockpit. The early latches tended to release ac­cidentally on rough roads, and as Mark Miller warned me, the T-handle can easily snap the chromed pot-metal covers off the latch holes. The later interior latches work better, of course, but require more running around than a tennis match if you forget to release them before you get out of the car.

The flat floor also disappeared in February, 1962, after 2523 cars had been made. Miller's car felt a little more cramped than Gasser's later roadster in this respect, but not enough to make you run out and look for a different Jaguar.

As driven during our photo shoot, the coupe was probably no more than three hours away from mechanical per­fection, needing little more than a final carb adjust. Miller had pulled out all the stops to have it done for us, and the evening after the photo session he went back to our hotel, rented a room and slept for 16 hours. Hollow-eyed from exhaustion, he'd been too tired to drive 100 miles back to his home.

The next day, upon seeing that golden coupe being loaded on its trail­er and driven away, it occurred to me that the E-Type's handsome lines look so inevitable now, you tend to forget there was once a world without them. And yet the beauty of the car is much more than skin deep.

You have only to drive an E-Type, work on the engine or look at the car from any angle—inside, outside or un­derneath—to realize it has a quality and consistency of vision that goes all the way to its core. No fake hood scoops or rally stripes here; the unseen transmis­sion housing is as beautiful in its own way as the roofline of the coupe or its glass-covered headlights. For all its style and flair, and even its few shortcom­ings, the car is completely real. There's a genuine echo of the Mulsanne

Straight resonating in every part. The E-Type seems to have been created by people who loved what they were doing and wanted, almost child­ like, to show us what they could make.

And what they made was the product of hard work, historical good fortune and pure inspiration from the deepest and most sincere yearnings of the human spirit. It's a graceful blend of craft and innocence whose like we may not see again.